A Lion's Mouth
by ebfiddler
Summary: Serenity encounters unexpected company.  The crew experiences uncomfortable scrutiny from the almighty Alliance, and Mal revisits his darkest hours.  First story in a series.  Drama/Action/Humor/Romance.  All canon characters.
1. Chapter 1

A Lion's Mouth (01)

Part (01)

_Takes place right after the Serenity Movie. They take off, fly through the storm, the buffer panel falls off and…here's what happens next._

A/N: I warmly welcome readers' comments and constructive criticism.

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><p>Jayne was in fine form, holding forth on the bridge, coffee cup in hand. He had a captive audience for his story, because River was at the helm and Zoe was supervising River's pilotage, and neither could leave her post. It was one of his favorite anecdotes, and he had the timing down perfectly, on account of he'd told this story to just about every woman he ever picked up on his planetside searches for play. He was surprised hisownself that he hadn't already told it to the crew of Serenity.<p>

_"You have," _River thought with vehemence. _"Four times. You just don't remember."_ She rolled her eyes, but Jayne didn't see—River was looking out towards the Black, and Jayne's attention was focused on Zoe.

"…So I then says to him," Jayne wound up for the punchline, " 'Show me where them thrusters is at, an' I'll show you the fast way to get to Beylix.' "

He looked expectantly at Zoe. "Hmm." Zoe looked dully abstracted. She was wrapped up in her own thoughts.

Jayne wasn't about to let his moment of glory pass unheeded. "Don't you think that was pretty cunning?" he persisted.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm talkin' at you Zoe!"

Zoe shook herself. "Oh, yeah, Jayne. Right." She attempted to pay a little closer attention. What had Jayne been saying?

"Well don't you think that way was more better?"

Zoe looked unimpressed.

"The augmenting adjective is superfluous with the comparative form," River said, not even turning from the controls.

Zoe and Jayne regarded River. As Zoe's gaze passed over the window, she remembered something she needed to tell River.

"River, our course runs us near the Lion's Mouth."

"Lions? Here in the black?" Jayne asked incredulously.

"It's an asteroid field, Jayne," Zoe replied. "Well, more like rubble—hundreds of thousands of rocks, most of them big as Serenity. It's the result of a terrible accident—"

"No accident," River inserted, at the same time that Jayne asked, "What happened?"

"—a terraforming accident," Zoe continued. "Planet Leo, 'bout twenty years ago, it was undergoing later stages of the terraforming process, when somethin' went wrong. A massive explosion."

Jayne was curious. "Like what happened on Shadow during the war?"

Zoe gave Jayne a dark look. "Alliance didn't bomb Leo. And Leo wasn't settled yet, so it wasn't—the death of a whole planet, like Shadow. But a big part of Leo shattered, ended up strewn around in a massive belt. River, you steer clear of the Lion's Mouth. It's too dangerous for a novice pilot like you to venture in."

. . .

Kaylee and Simon were in the engine room. It was Kaylee's favorite place on Serenity, and if was possible for her to love it more, she did now, ever since Simon had taken to passing most of his spare time in the engine room with her. Although "passing time" was a pretty mild way of putting it, considering what they spent much of their time doing. Still, Cap'n had said that it was a good idea for everyone on Serenity's crew to learn a bit more about one another's jobs, so that in case someone was unable, for whatever reason, another crew member would at least have a notion what to do. At least, that was the excuse that Kaylee used for luring Simon into the engine room at every opportunity. He didn't seem to object to his new role as apprentice mechanic in the least. Right now Kaylee was running through a routine checklist of engine functions. Simon was paying close attention—at least he was staring at Kaylee's mouth with intense interest. Whether or not he had comprehended a single word that mouth had been saying was another matter. Kaylee smiled at him and decided to take another approach to Simon's mechanical education. "You want me to show you how to keep the works runnin'?" she asked, sweetly suggestive.

. . .

The cargo bay was unusually full. On any other transport ship, this state of affairs would have been normal, but the crew of Serenity was more accustomed to a token load of a few crates, while the real cargo rested in the various nooks and hiding holes behind certain panels in the bay and throughout the ship.

Mal was busy in the cargo bay, checking each of the many crates to be sure it was securely stowed, and checking each crate's ID code against an electronic list he held in his hand.

Inara entered the catwalk above the bay from her shuttle. She looked over the cargo bay, and Mal. She was struck by the unusual quantity of goods and Mal's unusual activity, so she asked as she descended towards Mal's level, "So, this cargo is completely legal?"

Mal looked up at her and gestured with his list. "Got papers on it and everything." He continued with his work, tightening straps and checking fittings. "Kinda shocking, ain't it?"

"Are you turning over a new leaf?" She reached the cargo bay and stood level with Mal.

"What else am I gonna do, Inara—load up contraband while we're docked at a Fed repair base?" The Operative had seen them through the refit at a _Federal_ base. Mal never thought he'd see the day that Serenity was seen to by the Feds. He bent over to check a lower fitting and winced in pain. He still wasn't really healed from Miranda. Properly speaking, the violence occurred on Mr Universe's moon (known to Alliance chart makers as "Ferdinand Moon"), but Mal, like everyone on Serenity, still thought of the whole series of events as "Miranda." He shook off the pain and moved on to the next crate. "But yes, I am turning over a new leaf. I actually renewed the ship's registration—my pilot's license—everything."

"You've been flying without a license for…how long?" Inara asked.

"Oh, it was all legit when I first bought Serenity, years ago. I didn't turn to a life of crime right outta the gate, you know. Ran small cargo jobs—_legal_ cargo—for a good long while before I realized we were getting poorer than poor." Inara listened carefully. It wasn't often that Mal talked about the past—even the more recent past, like times on Serenity before Inara first rented the shuttle. She was especially curious about what Mal had been like before the War, before his life was shattered at Serenity Valley, but he never brought up those times himself, and turned aside most attempts to get him to open the book of his life. Mal was continuing, "Then the Holden Boys offered me more money than I'd ever been paid to run uncustomed goods to Boros. We ate well after that run, for the first time in months…."

His simple story gave Inara a lot of food for thought. She knew, of course, that Mal had turned to smuggling and other illicit activities as a means of getting by. Times were hard. He seemed to have a talent for mayhem, and she realized she had simply assumed that he took to violence and crime naturally. It was sloppy thinking, unworthy of a woman of her education. A Companion was trained to observe people closely, to read their feelings, understand their motivations. Now, as she heard him speak quite casually, almost cheerfully, about the hardships of Serenity's early years, of a crew literally starving under his command, Inara realized a re-assessment was in order. She had fallen into the trap of accepting his statements at face value, of believing the tough-guy thief façade that he chose to present to the world, without questioning enough what underlay it. Despite knowing, intellectually, that his thieving ways had been schooled into him by harsh necessity, she realized with a bit of shock that it simply hadn't occurred to her to imagine Mal on Serenity without the thieving and smuggling. She should have started by imagining him as a legitimate businessman, captain of an ordinary transport vessel, trying to make a living in a harsh environment, one that was undoubtedly harsher for veterans of the losing side of the war. The recent events on Miranda _had_ shown her something new—how far Mal was willing to go to fight for something he believed in. She should have seen it.

Mal had stopped speaking. He looked toward her with a hint of a smile, and noticed she was looking at him in a kinda disconcertin' way, as if she was tryin' to see right through his skin. "You know," he continued, "I actually feel a bit naked—uh, you know, exposed, with not havin' nothin' to hide here."

The word "naked" hung uncomfortably in the air for a moment. Then Inara smoothly broke the awkward moment. "You once told me that having cargo made us a target for every other scavenger out there."

. . .

Serenity moved through the Black, approaching the farthest reaches of the debris field left by the shattering of Planet Leo. River dutifully piloted the ship clear of any larger chunks of rock, but the smaller particles of dust and grit would nonetheless give some punishment to the outer hull and interfere with the sensors. This was not a major shipping lane, and there was not another vessel in sight. But sight was only one of the senses. An acute observer might have noticed something, less than a shadow, a mere disturbance in space, noticeable more for what was _not _there than for what was. A roughly triangular shape occluded the distant stars and planets. It was moving in Serenity's wake, pacing her.

. . .

Mal was a bit surprised. Was Inara actually quoting him? Never knew she was paying such close attention. And did she just say "us"? He knew better than to get his hopes up, so he blinked himself back to the present and said, "Yeah, well, I know how scavengers think. Being one my own self."

"Mal, you're far more than just a scavenger." Inara's eyes were shining. She moved a little closer to him and continued, "You shouldn't think of yourself that way. You really are so much more."

Right. She had his full attention now. She was lookin' at him like he was some kinda—英勇的 狗娘养的 人 yīngyǒngde gǒuniángyǎngde rén. She opened her mouth to speak again. "I've seen you—." Serenity gave a sudden, violent lurch, throwing Mal into Inara's arms. They both fell to the deck.

He knocked the breath out of her. With the impact of the fall, of course. And, she had to admit—but only to herself—for other reasons. Had he, perhaps, launched himself on her in the heat of passion? She wouldn't mind…. She closed her eyes, ready to be kissed. But Mal was already in Captain mode. He instantly picked himself up and tore up the stairs to the bridge to find out what the hell was going on. What _was_ going on? Inara wondered vaguely, as she slowly sat up. Why had Mal been so eager to get away from her, when she felt like _this_? Had the earth moved? Or was that just Serenity?

. . .

Mal came pounding onto the bridge to find Jayne sitting on his 屁股 pìgu amidst a collection of rolling coffee cups and plastic dinosaurs that had been thrown to the floor by the sudden lurch. Zoe was on her feet, hanging onto the back of the pilot's seat.

"What in the 九地狱 jiǔ dìyù was that all about?" Mal demanded.

" 'Xactly what I just said," Jayne put in, picking himself up out of the wreckage.

River did not take her eyes off the flying. "They come out of the black, little ones that you almost don't see. You can't see them but they're still there. Always there."

"Well, that sure clears it up," Mal said. "What—"

Mal grabbed the back of the chair as Serenity lurched again in response to River's sudden movement of the yoke.

"Won't stop. You think they're gone but they'll never stop," she whispered. "The ones with teeth, the cat playing with the mouse, playing—" she gave a creepy little smile "—five, four, three, two, one, tag! You're it!"

River suddenly put the ship into high gear, engaging the thrusters, and using the attitude jets to maneuver them precariously close to a cluster of rocks, most of them much smaller than the ship. River twisted them through the dangerous labyrinth of the Lion's Mouth Asteroid Field, maneuvering Serenity like a fighter jet. Mal got his sea legs on and stood directly behind her seat. He was focused entirely on the survival of his ship. He didn't dare interrupt—his piloting skills were in no way up to taking over the controls in such a hazardous place at such a hazardous speed, and he didn't want to distract River into a fatal error. She was speaking just as wildly as she was flying.

"Loss and possession, death and life are one! There falls no Shadow where there shines no Sun. Blue Sun!" The last words came out as a mad howl. A fine moment for River to start one of her crazy times, Mal thought. He briefly locked eyes with Zoe. No, she hadn't seen it coming. "If the Sun breed maggots in a dead dog—"

Jayne looked disgusted. He didn't want no truck with maggots and dead dogs.

"—being a god kissing carrion—" River turned to Mal, to his great consternation, as they veered precariously close to a chunk of rock large enough to knock off the cargo bay. She stared into his eyes and spoke directly to him. "Have you a daughter?"

"A whabba who? No, River. Just fly the damn ship, sweetheart."

"Let her not walk in the Sun," River intoned, mercifully re-directing her gaze to the viewscreen and control panel. "They won't stop. You try to get away but they won't stop. They'll take it back," she whispered.

Mal and Zoe exchanged a look. Could he slip into the co-pilot seat while Zoe tackled River and hit the button to transfer the helm to the co-pilot flight desk? The view out the bridge window was sickening, as River executed barrel rolls through narrow corridors and shaved past chunks of rock large enough to shatter Serenity. "You can't go where she can't see you. Peek-a-boo!" River's giggle was far more disconcerting than her Cassandra-type wailing. "Here's something you can't do." She slammed a control hard over and Serenity spun on a dime, narrowly missing a jagged chunk of shiny obsidian the size of a house. "I am like a leaf on the—"

Mal saw Zoe eyeing River darkly. Delusions of Wash? How much had River picked up from watching Wash fly? "Move him into the sun," River chanted. "Its gentle rays awoke him once." Her talk, and her flying, grew wilder and wilder. "Let others hail the rising sun!" Mal's only comfort, if you could call it that, was that she hadn't hit anything yet. "Two by two…hands of blue! Two by two! Hands of Blue!" River turned to Mal suddenly and said, with perfect lucidity, "Trying to lose them."

Mal had nearly given up making any sense of her wild spew, but this was the most comprehensible thing she had said, so Mal latched on to it. "Trying to lose who?"

"They're following us. They won't stop. They'll keep coming, and coming…"

Mal slid into the co-pilot's seat and started running a comprehensive diagnostic, starting with external scans and sensors.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

英勇的 狗娘养的 人 yīngyǒngde gǒuniángyǎngde rén [heroic son of a bitch]

屁股 pìgu [butt]

九地狱 jiǔ dìyù [nine hells]

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><p>AN: Comments and reviews welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

A Lion's Mouth (01), Part (02)

_Serenity encounters unexpected company._

_Author Note: I hope you enjoy this story. I'm very interested in reader feedback, so please-write a review!_

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><p>Everything was sleek and shiny on the bridge of the stealth ship. The flight desk blinked with an array of the most modern equipment, a single flat surface that shifted to display different controls and dials as needed, as well as their human interfaces. Right now the central display showed a schematic view of a Firefly class transport, rotating wildly in and out of a set of cross-hairs. Blue-gloved hands glided over the control panel, unable to ignore the red-lettered message blinking at the bottom of the display: "Unable to lock target."<p>

. . .

It would have taken a very acute observer to notice the stealth ship. It did not reflect visible light. It did not reflect most wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum. Its shape was a stream-lined V, reminiscent of some fighter jets from Earth-that-was. From some angles its profile was nearly flat, and that made it extremely difficult to spot the only visual clue of its presence—the fact that its invisible form eclipsed the points of light in the background.

As Serenity backed and veered and swerved and rolled its way through the rubble of the Lion's Mouth Asteroid Zone, it zoomed around a small moon, known as Simba, that had never been terraformed. An Alliance patrol boat, flying by Simba on a routine check of the Leo sector, spotted Serenity, apparently out for a joyride. Clearly the pilot of that Firefly transport was crazy, or at least flying under the influence, so the patrol boat pulled out of its orbit and joined chase. The stealth ship, undetected by the Alliance patrol, nearly ran over the patrol boat and initiated a hard avoidance maneuver to prevent a collision.

. . .

"River's right," Mal said, "there's some kind of odd thing in our wake readings. Can't see a ship, though."

"You won't see it, but it's still there. If a tree falls in space, does it still make a sound?"

"No. Ain't no trees in space," Jayne cut in to River's philosophizing.

"Absence of evidence does not prove non-existence." River seemed about to continue. An accurate assessment of the situation, or wild philosophical ramblings?

Mal turned to Zoe. "I haven't seen the likes of this since…"

"…since the war," Zoe finished. "It's a stealth ship." Neither Mal nor Zoe had actually _seen_ a stealth ship in the war. That was sort of the point. But they sure as 地狱 dìyù had felt the effects of them. The stealth ships always seemed to turn up at the critical point of a battle, delivering unexpected aid to the Alliance. You couldn't target them, couldn't even spot them. Sometimes the Alliance didn't seem to be expecting them either.

"他妈的 Tāmādē!" Mal said. "River, keep it up. We gotta lose these people."

River seemed much happier now that Mal got it, and spoke lucidly. "Aye-aye, Captain."

. . .

Serenity's wild flight continued unabated. The stealth ship, barely a disturbance in the black of space, tracked Serenity's every move. The Alliance patrol boat followed in hot pursuit. Once they were clear of the asteroid field, though, the possibilities for avoidance diminished, and despite River's best efforts, the stealth ship closed in. They were in serious danger of being locked down in the sights of the stealth ship's targeting device. But the Alliance patrol boat seemed to have gathered speed, and now came chugging closer. Again the stealth ship chose to avoid an Alliance collision, and ducked out of the way, still unobserved by the patrol boat. The stealth ship backed off, hiding in the dark of the Black.

o o o

"Playing hide and seek," River stated.

"What?" Mal asked. River had ceased ranting some time ago, and Mal had been following her pilotage as if he himself were at the controls, no longer finding it wild and crazy, now that he understood it was a run for survival. "Hide?" Then he realized that River was no longer flying avoidance maneuvers, but steadier.

"What should I do about the other one?" she asked.

Mal was confused. "Other w…?" He consulted the sensor screen, and spotted the Alliance patrol boat. "哦, 这是一个快乐的发展 Ò, zhè shì yī gè kuàilè de fāzhǎn. As if we don't already have enough on our minds…"

_. . ._

_Which devil to choose?_ Mal thought. He had no love for the Alliance, no love at all, and not a one of his past encounters with Alliance patrols was a fond memory. The best of them amounted to harassment—as soon as they figured out he was a Browncoat, which was generally right away—while the worst of them…well, he had his pick as to which jail on which planet was the least pleasant, and it was a tough call. And that was before the Tams joined his crew.

But the other choice—fleeing from the Alliance patrol boat—amounted to throwing himself into the arms, or maybe the gun sights, of the stealth ship. River had _asked_ him what to do about the Alliance boat. But with the stealth ship, she'd taken matters into her own hands. There was no doubt as to which _she _feared the most.

It all hinged on the Tams.

Time was he would have run from the Alliance patrol, but this voyage, he had nothing illegal aboard and no particular worries that weren't part and parcel of being Malcolm Reynolds, Captain of Serenity and former Sergeant of the defeated Independent Army. No worries other than the dubious fugitive status of the Tams. The Operative said that he'd told the Alliance that "the Tams were no longer a threat—damage done," but could he trust the Operative? Mal didn't like him. Man was a monster. In fact, Mal would do his level best to kill him, no regrets, he ever saw him again. Still, the monster had given the order to patch up their hurts, let them go, when he could have done different. The man had some moral principles, sick and twisted as they were. Mal had broken him, gained the high ground in that battle. Didn't trust him a bit as a general rule, but in this particular, the Operative would keep his word. It was all he had left.

Mal was still edgy from the chase, his system pumped with adrenaline. He tried to think logically. Cargo, registration, licensing—all in order, and that made him confident. But how would this Alliance patrol view his personnel—starting with his own self—and especially what would they do with the Tams? He'd hedged when he registered the ship and crew, listing "pilot" as an open position and likewise not listing a medic. He could claim he'd hired the Tams to fill those positions, or not, depending on how things played out. But the time to play the hand was fast approaching.

. . .

The Alliance patrol boat was no luxury yacht. It could go at a good clip, but took an unreasonable amount of time to come to speed—not a good characteristic for a federal police vessel. The captain, a woman close to Mal's age, sighed inwardly. On her beat, the miscreants she encountered were frequently smugglers, whose vessels typically could put on a burst of speed that allowed them to run circles around her patrol boat. It wasn't easy upholding the law in this sector. When she did catch a smuggler, she was tough and did not stand for any nonsense. She'd heard all the excuses and could see through the stalls, the pretences, the lies, the evasions and omissions that most smugglers tried to pull. The Firefly could well be a smuggler—the ship had clearly been pulling avoidance maneuvers ever since she spotted it. Not many would pull such maneuvers in the Lion's Mouth Asteroid Field, however. Were they more desperate than usual? Or just crazier?

Ensign Chang spoke. "They've slowed a just bit, ma'am."

"Close in. Time to hail them."

. . .

The Alliance patrol boat hailed Serenity, and Mal opened the channel. A federal police captain appeared on the screen. She looked to be the no-nonsense type and presented a severe demeanor. Reminded him a bit of Zoe, point of fact, had Zoe been an Alliance police officer.

"Firefly class transport, you are ordered to cut thrust. Prepare to be boarded."

"Yes, ma'am." He instantly complied.

Jayne couldn't believe it. "No ruttin' way!" he exclaimed.

River knew what Mal had in mind—literally. There was no better time to do this. Papers all in order, legal cargo. Plus it'll shut down those 混蛋 húndàn chasing us in the stealth ship. She saw his worry about her own and Simon's dubious status.

Mal thought, "Reckon it's like puttin' our heads right into a lion's mouth," just as River said, "Into Alliance mouth."

Mal gave River a startled look. Even if you knew she could do it, it was still creepifying to have River gettin' inside your head. Still, he asked her, "What do you mean?"

River gave him a look. "What do _you _mean?"

该死 Gǎisǐ, but this was not the time to be sorting out River's cryptic comments. He was _not _going down that path. "Zoe, get the ship's papers, cargo manifest, muster the crew in the cargo bay. No weapons."

Zoe started to protest, "Sir, you're not gonna just let them…"

Mal cut her off, "I am. No better time. All our registrations and licensing are in order, Operative saw to that. We have perfectly legitimate cargo,_ with_ documentation. No better time to go through a checkpoint, get a good mark against our names for a change."

Zoe was still not convinced. "Sir, what about…"

"See how they run," River broke in, in a sing-song voice.

"We'd best find out what the word is on Simon and River's status, know what we're dealing with. We gotta just put our heads in the lion's mouth. If they can't move about freely in the Verse, best we know about it now. Plus, it sure shuts down those 混蛋 húndàn chasing us." Mal had an afterthought. "Nobody say a word about River flying—she ain't got a pilot's license."

"Three blind mice," River sang. "See how they run."

. . .

The entire crew stood in the cargo bay by the airlock. Mal had made himself quite clear: don't go mentioning Miranda, nor the broadwave. The doors opened and they found themselves confronted with a team of armed Federal marshals. Mal and Zoe, veterans of many an encounter with the Alliance, already had their hands in evidence. Mal had placed himself in front, with Zoe right beside him. Jayne, Kaylee, Inara, Simon and River stood further back. The Alliance marshals moved onto Serenity and began patting down the crew for weapons.

"We're unarmed. We got nothing to hide. I'm Captain Malcolm Reynolds."

"Ship's papers," Zoe said, offering the leather-bound folder.

Mal addressed the patrol captain. "This is just an ordinary cargo run."

The search turned up no weapons. The patrol Captain addressed her officers. "Search the ship for contraband. Hold the crew here. They are not to leave this area until called for." She then addressed Mal. "Captain, you will follow me."

. . .

Federal marshals escorted Mal into a sparely furnished room. Many months ago, Commander Harken had interrogated Mal in a similar but much larger room, when they'd tried to salvage goods off that settlers' ship that'd been hit by Reavers. This was a much smaller vessel, and although it was the same sterile Alliance grey, it was clear that this patrol boat didn't enjoy the same budgetary advantages as Harken's military vessel.

More polite than Commander Harken, this patrol captain gestured for Mal to be seated. He studied her face. She looked familiar somehow, though he couldn't have said why. Again, something about her reminded him of Zoe. They didn't look alike nohow, it was more a matter of how they held themselves—a "don't mess with me" bearing that he knew he'd be well advised to mind. She was, like Zoe, a good-looking woman, though the severity of her clothing, hairstyle, and demeanor disguised this somewhat.

Mal moved stiffly to the chair and sat with a twinge of pain. There was no disguising his recent injuries, and he saw that the patrol Captain took note of everything.

"Captain Reynolds, that was pretty wild flying for an ordinary cargo run. For a man with nothing to hide, you take an awful lot of evasive action. We've been chasing you through half a sector. Took a lot of work to get close enough to hail you, even. Would you care to tell me why you were fleeing?"

No, he wouldn't. He said nothing. This was not a good beginning.

"Ship's log and cargo manifest, ma'am." An aide handed her an electronic paper file, which she consulted while speaking.

"Right, let's start at the beginning then," she said briskly, scanning the documents. "You took on a cargo of Gurtsler pinblocks on Persephone; you're bound for Beaumonde by way of Boros. I see you recently updated your registrations and licenses. Your registration had lapsed…"

"Finally had the opportunity," Mal broke in. "Ship like ours has to keep moving to make a living."

"…_two years ago_," the captain continued. "You had no 'opportunity' to renew your licenses for _two years?"_

Mal felt like he was being dressed down by his officer in the war. He hadn't had this feeling in a _long_ time. But he wasn't going to let this Alliance officer rattle him. "Took the opportunity, being in dry dock for repairs."

"How long were you in dry dock, Captain?"

There was a trap in that simple question, he thought, but soldiered on. As far as possible, tell the truth. "Five weeks."

She leafed through the records. "Replaced port thruster, repaired multiple hull breach, re-containment of radion-accelerator core, installation of an entire new suite of landing gear…That's one 地狱的 dìyùde repair job. How did your ship come to need so much work?"

"We had a run-in with Reavers."

"Reavers," she said flatly. "You know, two months ago I wouldn't have believed a word of that. I didn't even believe Reavers existed. But…"

"You saw the broadwave?" Mal asked. This was a test. Was that broadwave in any way connected to him or Serenity? A lot hinged on the patrol captain's answer.

The patrol captain nodded briefly and continued with her line of questioning. _Good_, Mal thought. To her there was no special significance. He was careful not to let his thoughts show on his face. "But now," she was saying, "I'm wondering, how could any ship survive an encounter with Reavers? Don't they tear apart everybody they find? You're pushing the limits of credibility here."

Mal decided to play his hand openly. He told the truth, just not the whole truth. "We were near the abandoned communications station on Ferdinand Moon, when the Reavers come after us. We ran. No one lives, who gets boarded by Reavers. It was a rough chase—we lost control of our helm. I thought we'd all be killed. Wash—our pilot—had to glide her in for an emergency landing. Wash was brilliant…." He paused and swallowed. He still couldn't speak easily about the events that led to Wash's death. He wouldn't lose his thread in front of this Alliance official. "Landing gear sheared off," he reported flatly. "Shredded up the hull. Port thruster tore off."

Although Captain Reynolds spoke tonelessly, the patrol captain knew he was reliving a horrible moment. Every ship's captain fears a crash landing. Despite herself, her sympathy was engaged.

"We came to rest," he continued, "and just when we thought, we made it through alive, a Reaver harpoon breached the starboard bridge window. Killed Wash, dead in an instant. The rest of us ran, took shelter in the communications complex. The Reavers came after us and…" Mal paused. For a moment, he couldn't go on. He extended the moment a wee bit to consider how to tell the rest while omitting important details about the broadwave.

"And?" she prompted. Her moment of sympathy was apparently short-lived.

"We fought 'em off," Mal stated.

"You fought them off," the patrol captain repeated, her face and tone expressing her patent disbelief.

"I'm not sayin' it was easy. Two of us nearly died. We had two more crew seriously injured, an' one with minor injuries. The rest made it through with cuts and bruises."

There was a pause while the captain took this in. She was clearly wondering…

"You're still wondering how we made it out of there," Mal offered. "An Alliance ship that was in the area patched us up, towed us to dry dock at Persephone for full repairs."

"That's quite a story, Captain Reynolds. But it still doesn't explain why you were fleeing arrest."

Mal knew he wasn't out of the woods yet.

. . .

Serenity's first officer had a decidedly military bearing. The patrol captain noticed this immediately. Her answers also had the feel of an official report, terse and to the point.

"…Captain was shot in the back, stabbed in the gut, beaten black and blue. By this time I was flat on my back, unable to move." Zoe paused and added, "Then the captain passed out from loss of blood." She stopped. Enough said.

"The soldiers from the Alliance ship finished off the Reavers?"

"No ma'am," Zoe replied. "_We_ did. But we wouldn't have survived if Alliance hadn't tended to our wounds. Captain and Simon nearly died. Took them weeks to recover. Captain's still not fully healed."

"You and your Captain seem quite capable fighters in desperate circumstances. You're survivors." The patrol captain referred to an electronic record. "It's not the first time you've survived against the odds."

Zoe stiffened. Always, _always,_ those Alliance 混蛋 húndàn came back to this.

"You served with Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds in the 57th Overlanders, Independent Regiment. Highest rate of attrition in the Battle of Serenity Valley."

"You seem very well informed, ma'am," Zoe replied in an official tone.

"You served in 'A' Company, Lieutenant Baker's platoon." Suddenly, the patrol captain's entire affect shifted, and she asked with a very different tone, "Did you see him die?"

Zoe was completely taken aback. "Who?" she asked.

"Lieutenant Baker. Harold Chien Baker."

"Yes," Zoe replied. _What does this have to do with our discussion?_ she wondered.

"How did he die?" the patrol captain asked with emotion.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

地狱 dìyù [hell]

他妈的! Tāmādē! [Damn it!]

哦, 这是一个快乐的发展 Ò, zhè shì yī gè kuàilè de fāzhǎn [Oh this is a happy development]

混蛋 húndàn [bastards]

该死 Gǎisǐ [Oh hell]

混蛋 húndàn [bastards]

地狱的 dìyùde [hell of a]

混蛋 húndàn [bastards]

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><p><em>AN: Please leave a review!_


	3. Chapter 3

A Lion's Mouth (01)

Part (03)

A/N Part three of the first story in a multi-part series featuring the entire crew of Serenity. Please leave a review.

_Uncomfortable scrutiny from the almighty Alliance._

* * *

><p><em>. . .<em>

The ship's mechanic was the opposite of terse. She spoke easily and fluidly. She clearly had an abundance of empathy for her captain and crewmates, and an unusually tender spot in her heart for her machines.

"We was so tore up, broke my heart to see the state of Serenity when I first got a chance to take a good look at her. But the Captain takes such good care of us, he always does. And he takes care of _her _'specially, he loves her…"

_Who?_ the patrol captain wondered, with a questioning look.

"Serenity_, _I mean," Kaylee clarified. "He's the only one in this 'Verse loves her more 'n I do."

"So you and the Captain fixed up the ship?"

"Well, no, I mean, he would have, he _did_, soon as he could get up. He nearly died, you know. But Zoe recovered first, an' it gave her something to take her mind off _her_ loss…"

"Her loss?" the captain questioned.

"Wash. Our pilot. Zoe's husband."

_. . ._

The interview with crewman Jayne Cobb was an exercise in pointlessness. The man just sat there, glaring belligerently, refusing to say a single word.

_. . ._

"Jayne's a man of few words," Inara said. "But I was glad to have him at my side in that fight. He and Zoe are consummate fighters: we wouldn't have survived without them."

"And Captain Reynolds?"

Inara realized that she had come close to revealing Mal's absence from the scene of the fight. She covered her error smoothly. "Captain Reynolds is…stubborn…and very determined. He'll carry on against very long odds. He'll keep fighting after others have given up hope, and turn a desperate situation around." That was enough. Part of Inara realized that, but she found herself talking on. "I find that, the longer I know him, the more I…respect him." Inara was astonished, actually, to make this discovery. The notion of Mal as someone she could respect was a new one, and she needed a moment to take it in. Mal was a rule breaker, but a man of principle, when he had something to believe in. She actually missed the patrol captain's next question. "Excuse me?" Inara asked. _Focus_, she told herself. She applied herself to reading the patrol captain's facial expressions and body language, and picking up the thread of the conversation again.

"Why would a Registered Companion even be aboard a tramp cargo vessel such as Serenity in the first place?"

"Well, I had flown with Serenity before, when I was expanding my business. So when I felt that I needed a break from my work at the Training House, it was natural to ask."

_. . ._

If the captain had been evasive, the first officer terse, and the crewman mute, the doctor was reserved, cautious, and so tightly wound he would have twanged if plucked.

"You're the ship's physician?"

"Yes," Simon answered. He wasn't so sure Mal's plan of openness was a good one. He could be bound by law at any moment, and he was regretting that he had not insisted that he and River hide somewhere, somehow, while the ship was inspected.

"But you took a more active role in fighting the Reavers?"

"We all had to. It was the only thing we could do."

"You finished the Reavers off?"

"They nearly finished me off. I received an abdominal wound, upper left quadrant, projectile weapon. The pyloric artery was damaged and considerable exsanguination ensued…"

The captain was not interested in the medical details. "How did you defeat the Reavers?"

"I was unconscious. I don't personally know how the fight ended. I regained consciousness in the infirmary of the Alliance ship a day later, after surgery."

"Dr Tam, you were a wanted fugitive."

For the first time, the veil of reserve lifted. She actually saw his eyes light up. Yes, he heard her say _were._ "Yes, I was," he replied.

"That warrant has been superceded by a recent bulletin canceling it. Can you shed any light on this development?"

"My theory is that the authorities have finally deduced that I was not a culpable party."

He was still cautious, the captain noted. "What was your sister's role in all this?"

"My sister is ill, mentally unstable. In her lucid moments, she's a very intelligent girl, graceful and capable. But she hasn't many of those moments. You can't expect to interrogate her."

_. . ._

The young woman—girl, really—before her didn't seem especially odd, until you looked into her eyes, which held the patrol captain's eyes in an unblinking stare, disconcerting in its intensity and penetration. The patrol captain broke eye contact first. 该死 Gǎisǐ, that was _her _interrogation technique. Still, she started off with the assumption that River Tam would behave normally. No point in assuming insanity—that excuses the subject from the responsibility of answering. "What is your role on Serenity?"

"Playing a role. We're all playing a role. Rolling along."

"I mean, are you a passenger, or part of the ship's crew?"

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream," River chanted, "merrily marry…merry widow, waltzing through the black." She looked directly at Captain, and spoke quietly. "Gone for a soldier…"

"Do you have a job, on the ship?"

"Finished his schooling, gotta find a job. He's gone for a soldier. Cried my fill, all my tears would turn a mill—Military police."

"Yes, I'm a federal police marshal. Who are you talking about?"

"He is dead and gone, lady, he is dead and gone. At his heels the grass-green turf, at his head a stone," River intoned, half-singing.

The captain was silently upset by this. How could she _know_?

"Sell my rock, sell my reel, buy my love a sword of steel."

The private memories that she ordinarily kept deeply buried rose dangerously near the surface. The conversation she'd had earlier in the day had opened the doors, and now the carefully walled-off emotions threatened to escape. She was actually near tears. She tried to collect herself. Some of those tears were tears of frustration.

"Don't cry," River said. "Time can heal your woe—the time has come to talk…"

The captain's look brightened a little—was this inquiry going somewhere at last?

"…of many things. Shoes, and ships, and sealing wax…"

What-huh? "_Sealing wax?"_

"Do pigs have wings?" River asked, seriously. "If you can't see the wings, do they still fly? If they're hiding, are they still there? Hide and seek…" River smiled a disconcerting, creepy little smile, "…hide and seek, waiting, waiting for us to come out and play." Suddenly she spoke, clearly and directly to the captain. _"I was flying."_

_. . ._

"River Tam said she was flying." She held Captain Reynolds's eyes, challenging.

"Did she?" he responded. "That girl's a bit addled in the brainpan, I'm sure you noticed."

"So you were flying?"

He looked her in the eye, blinked once. "Yes, ma'am."

"You're quite a pilot. I'm wondering why you weren't in the Space Force during the war."

"I volunteered for Infantry," Mal answered, then stopped. He shouldn't have said that. Always made the Feds all manner of unreasonable, any time his service record came up during an interrogation.

The patrol captain's question was blunt. "Where did you learn to fly like that?"

"I took flying lessons, back on—" he recollected himself, "before the War." Didn't do to go mentioning Shadow, neither. Hotbed of insurrection, more volunteers for the Independent forces than any other world of its size. Being from Shadow made him a marked man, as much as being a Browncoat. Tended to put the Feds in a real arresting mood.

"Planet-based flight school doesn't teach that kind of flying."

哎呀 Āiyā this woman was sharp. Picked holes in his story soon as he made it. "And I learned a lot from Wash," he amended quickly. "He was the best."

The patrol captain made no immediate rejoinder to that. Instead she let the silence sink in for a moment. "Captain Reynolds, let me be blunt: We found no contraband on board your ship. We even looked in the smuggling hold. Don't look surprised: you know those hiding-holes are there. But I can still cite you for reckless operation of a space vehicle, and even evading arrest, unless you explain what you were doing."

"We were being chased…" Mal began. He ignored the captain's look that clearly said _by us of course_ and forged on. "…by _another_ _ship_. A fast, maneuverable craft. Couldn't get a good look at it." That's a fact, he thought. The pure truth. "Chased us right through the Lion's Mouth. I think we nearly lost them," he stated, as ever unreasonably sanguine about his skill at fighting losing battles, "by the time you caught up to us. Didn't you see another ship?"

The captain's stare so clearly stated "no" that Mal tried another angle. "It's good to have cargo," he said with a bit of a smirk. "But it makes us a target for every scavenger out there."

Inara had liked that line, but this woman seemed to have heard it before. "So you really think this 'other ship' " (he could hear the quotation marks) "was after your cargo of _Gurtsler pinblocks?" _Gurtslers were some of the most common ship parts in the 'Verse.

"Don't know. Maybe there's a roaring black market trade in them pinblocks somewheres." This sounded very improbable as soon as he said it. "Wouldn't be something I'd know about, myself."

The captain's silence spoke to the improbability of that last statement. Mal shifted uncomfortably. "'Sides, how would they even know what we're carrying?"

The captain said nothing, but eyed the cargo manifest. "Right." 该死 Gǎisǐ! Was he so unused to flying legal cargo that he forgot? Ship's manifest is a matter of record, anyone in the transport business could look it up. "Honestly, I don't know who would want to chase after a cargo of Gurtsler pinblocks," Mal admitted. "It's got to be about the most unsexy cargo in the 'Verse. But it don't alter the fact that they chased us."

There was another pregnant pause, but this time it was the patrol captain who broke it. "Do you know of anyone who bears you ill-will, harbors a grudge against you, or would want to cause you trouble?"

Now that was downright funny, Mal thought, trying desperately to keep his face blank. He could come up with at least a hundred without even trying—Operative, Niska, Saffron, Patience, Wing, Badger, the Blue Hands guys, not to mention Blue Sun and the almighty Alliance itsownself. "Don't know of any," he answered. Her unremitting glare caused him to amend, "Well, okay, maybe there's a few."

哎呀 Āiyā, he weren't doing too well in the credibility department with this patrol captain. "It weren't Reavers, anyhow," he added.

The captain gave him a hard look. He got the idea she saw right through him, and had him pegged exactly for what he was: a tariff-dodging, illegal cargo-transporting, petty criminal smuggler who skated at the edge of the law. It just happened he was skating on the legal side this time. A damned uncomfortable moment.

How had he gotten himself into such a fix? This was supposed to be an easy checkpoint—get pulled over by the feds, get the shiny legal cargo inspected, get a happy face stamped on his official papers, and be on his merry. Why was it always so complicated? This Fed officer was a sharp one. She'd homed in directly on the dangerous territory—just what he _didn't_ want to talk about—Miranda, the broadwave—and she seemed to see his omissions as clearly as he did. Only one dangerous topic she hadn't hit yet.

"I'd like to talk about Serenity Valley…" she began.

_. . ._

_._

_._

_._

glossary

该死 Gǎisǐ [Damn it]

哎呀 Āiyā [Damn]

该死 Gǎisǐ [Damn!]

哎呀 Āiyā [Damn]

* * *

><p>AN Comments and constructive criticism warmly welcomed. Please leave a review.


	4. Chapter 4

A Lion's Mouth, Part 4

_The questions continue and Mal revisits his darkest hours._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Conclusion of this story. The poet Edmund Blunden once wrote to Robert Graves that the most disheartening thing about trying to publish his poems was the lack of response. He told his friend that he'd even prefer "I hate your loathsome poems" to no response at all. Graves, of course, wrote back: "I LOVE your loathsome poems!" So, what do you think of this Firefly story? Go ahead. Hit the "review" button at the bottom and leave a comment. Extra points for anyone who uses the word "loathsome." ;-)_

* * *

><p>"I'd like to talk about Serenity Valley…" the Alliance patrol captain began.<p>

There it was. Always, _always,_ they wanted to bring up the war. "Well _I_ wouldn't," Mal answered, feeling the quick pulse of rising anger.

"You see, I think you knew someone there who was very near and dear to me."

That wasn't at all what he expected. He was stunned into silence for a beat.

"Did you know Lieutenant Harold Baker?" She was _asking_ now, not interrogating.

After a brief moment of silence, Mal answered. "Yes." He looked at her with new eyes. "You a relative?"

She gave a small nod, and her next words were a request, not a command. "Please tell me everything you know."

Mal gathered his thoughts for a moment. Telling everything—that was something he hadn't done for a while. Hadn't done—地狱 dìyù, he'd avoided it as much as humanly possible. Tried never to think on it. Walled it off until it only crept out in unguarded moments and dreams. Never thought, and never got past thinking, about the war, about Serenity Valley, about all those men and women dead, and dead at his command. The Alliance defeated them, but Independent command abandoned them. He was a sergeant, _j__ust _a sergeant 该死 gǎisǐ, yet at one point he'd commanded the equivalent of a regiment. And he'd seen them die, one by one, by squads, by platoons, by companies, the consequences of his command decisions laid out so graphically before his senses that it was not possible to avoid acknowledging them. The support of those who were supposed to be commanding _him_ had failed him so entirely, so completely, during and after the battle. Alliance fired the bullets, but he'd done the killing, sure as if he pulled the trigger himself. And he was left to live with the consequences.

But telling a relative of a fallen soldier—that was different. Didn't change a thing, knowing when or how your loved one died—they were still dead—but it brought a measure of peace to the living. He'd done it many a time in the war and not a few times since, talking or writing to the relatives of the fallen. It was bitter medicine, but they all seemed to derive some small measure of comfort, to hear it from the lips of someone who was there, what had befallen their loved one. It was a duty he owed to those who'd died next to him in Serenity Valley. He shouldered his responsibility, looked at the captain—Baker's relative—and spoke.

"Lieutenant Baker came to our platoon right after the Battle of Du Khang—'cause our previous lieutenant was disabled. He was a decent kind of officer and we took to him right away. Reckon he took to us, too. Used to always tell us we were like his old boots…just as beat up and just as reliable."

There were some smiles, and even a few chuckles, from both Mal and the captain, as Mal recounted. Yep, this was the Lieutenant Baker they both knew. "He had a way with words, always sayin' the right thing to keep us going when things went bad. He wasn't stand-offish with the enlisted men and women, like some officers. Cared about the details, actually asked 'em about their homes and families…"

. . .

_Eight Years Previously_

Sergeant Reynolds and Lieutenant Baker were almost exactly the same age, born in the same month with birthdays ten days apart. The soldiers in the platoon had noticed early on how well the two worked together—like peas in a pod, or twin brothers. It was a relief, and made life in the platoon a lot more comfortable. 佛 Fó knew there'd been enough times when the Alliance's penchant for knocking off officers meant Sarge had to break in yet another green lieutenant. The worst ones were the 混蛋 húndàn who thought their book-learning at officer training camp counted for something in field and hadn't yet learned that trusting the Sarge's instincts and battle experience meant saving lives.

It was a quiet moment in the war. Some folks imagined that war was all about bullets flying, curtains of fire and big explosions, but it was mostly about waiting. Days and weeks of mind-numbing boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Sergeant Reynolds and Lieutenant Baker were taking advantage of this particular quiet moment to talk about home. The platoon was behind the line on rest detail, and although there was occasional sporadic gunfire in distance, it was nothing that concerned them. Didn't hardly register as background noise. Their casual attitudes made them look more like buddies than officer and subordinate. Baker was showing Mal a moving capture. It showed a lovely young woman wearing a pretty dress, with her hair done up nicely. It was not as if there weren't women in the army—but they weren't wearing the pretty clothes and they didn't have time to do their hair like that. The capture was Baker's most recent letter from home, and the girl was sweet and practical, with a sense of humor.

She was laughing. "…so we finally got the pigs back over the fence. You see how diligent we've been about tending the vegetable garden. But now I expect it'll all go to the Alliance. Resistance is crumbling here—they'll have finished taking over the planet by the end of the week. At least I've still got my work…I probably won't be able send you another for a good, long while, so let me just tell you that I love you, and—"

Baker snapped it off. "The rest is private."

"嘿 Hěi, it was just getting interesting! Sir," Mal added as an afterthought, recollecting that technically, Baker was his officer. A little pause restored the feeling of being buddies, and he said, "So that's your girl, huh? No wonder you've been eager to get some leave. But I guess that's out of the question now."

"Probably 'til the end of the war. What about you, Reynolds? You got someone special back on Shadow?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "Wanna see her picture?" He showed Baker a snap and was pleased to see Baker's eyebrows lift in that universal gesture that says "wow." Mal grew more serious. "I was gonna ask her—"

"This is serious, then," Baker interjected.

"Didn't want to rush things. I should have—"

"You should apply for some home leave, Reynolds. Independent Command owes you that, you've been on combat duty non-stop since the war began. A little R 'n' R on Shadow would do you good. And Reynolds, take my advice: first opportunity you get, be sure to marry that girl. I married my girl on Boros when I went home on leave five months ago. We didn't have but five days together as husband and wife before I had to come back out here, but I have never regretted it. If I die, I'll know I died married to the girl I love." Baker then lightened the serious mood. "Besides, if _you_ don't, someone else's like to get to her first, sweep her off her feet—Hey!" he said as Mal mock-punched him.

. . .

_Seven and a half years previously_

Baker spoke in official tones. "We've got orders to move out, effective immediately. Command says we're likely to be in action the moment we get there. All leave is cancelled."

"Yes, sir."

Baker then shifted his tone to a more personal one. "I'm sorry, Reynolds. I know how much you wanted to see her. I hope High Command sees fit to give us a little R 'n' R when this piece of action is over."

Mal nodded and took his leave. He moved through the encampment, all sergeant now. "We're moving out, people! Shake a leg!"

. . .

_Seven and a half years previously, Serenity Valley_

That night, the action heated up. Lieutenant Baker, Mal, and the platoon occupied a sandbagged redoubt under hot and intense fire. This was one of those moments that made up for the weeks of unmitigated dullness. Artillery was keeping up a heavy barrage and the angels flew high overhead, for the most part keeping clear of the anti-aircraft fire. At the moment there wasn't much shooting, but that would come as soon as the artillery had done their thing. Browncoat soldiers straggled in from other sections of the line with reports. Baker and Mal hustled around, listening to the reports and directing the newcomers to position. The news wasn't good. It seemed that officers were being selectively targeted, and whole units had been wiped out.

"Lieutenant Guzman is dead, sir. Just two of us got out," a private reported to Baker, while another pair of soldiers briefed Mal about casualties in another part of the line, "Think it's just me, Yamada, and…" she turned to her buddy, "Did Speransky make it?"

The communications corporal flagged down Baker's attention. "No response from 'C' Company, sir." He looked up from his communications set. "Headquarters took a direct hit, sir. No word about the colonel."

Mal bent over a wounded soldier, tying off a field dressing. Should do, if she could get medical attention soon enough. "We need a stretcher here! Get her to the field hospital."

Zoe, as always, was by his side. "Field hospital's gone. Took a strafing. Already overflowing with wounded."

. . .

By dawn, the action had relented a bit. Their ears were still stunned from the noise of the night's bombardment, and their conversation was conducted in shouts. Everyone kept up a grimly humorous tone, keeping up each other's spirits in the charnel house of the redoubt.

"Gotta look on the bright side, sir," Mal quipped, or rather, hollered. "By my reckoning, you're now a major general."

"How do you figure that, Sergeant?"

"Well, sir, we got A company, B company, the remnants of D and E, Watkin's entire regiment, Ching Lo's air-tank squadron, what's left of Srinavan's fleet of air skiffs, and the survivors from Maghreb's regiment. Plus the remnants of VII Brigade. That's near about 2000 fighting men and women, and you the only officer. That makes you a general."

Baker laughed. "Well, Reynolds, then you're Sergeant Major of Seventh Brigade. Congratulations on your promotion. Now, you reckon you can wangle some air support?"

"Workin' on it, General Baker."

. . .

As night fell, the situation turned more desperate. Air cover had been sporadic and the Alliance had come in and hit the Independent forces when they were vulnerable. They hadn't seen the angels come flying for a long while, and the Alliance finally gained the advantage in the sky. What they needed to carry the day, at least in their sector, was an armored unit to support an infantry advance. Mal never lost faith that they'd come through, and the Sarge's confidence was catching. Baker wound up the troops with an inspiring speech about holding the Valley against the Alliance. Mal spread the word up and down the line, embellishing Baker's words somewhat, tweaking them a bit, until he came up with a turn of phrase that really caught the ear.

The armored unit never came through. Hot bursts of fire from automatic weapons showered the trench, and those unlucky enough to have been caught without good cover paid the price. In one such burst, Mal saw Baker cut down. He and Private Graydon bent over Baker to apply a field dressing. Tearing open the lieutenant's brown coat, Mal saw that his entire belly and much of his chest was cut up like ground meat. Baker took one look at his sergeant's face and knew that he knew he was dying. "Hold on," he gasped, and spoke no more.

. . .

"Those were his last words." Mal spoke from a far away place. "We held, of course, for near another two weeks. Then High Command told us to lay down arms, and left us there to die for two _more_ weeks while they worked out terms of surrender. Only 150 of that 2000 made it out of Serenity Valley alive." He had to stop. His throat felt thick, and what was that gorram prickle under his eyelids? He adjusted his gaze to the captain's face and saw that she was weeping. "I'm sorry," he said with full sincerity. "Lieutenant Baker was your…_husband_," he realized, recognizing the pretty, laughing girl from the capture behind the captain's present severity. "Oh god…_You _were his girl, back on Boros." He just barely kept his own emotions in check, and when he trusted himself to speak again, it was in a husky, choked voice. "I _am _sorry. I haven't spoken of that place in more 'n seven years."

There was a moment of silence while each of them tried to pull themselves together.

Captain Chien Baker spoke first. "Th—thank you, I never knew how he—just a listing in the bulletin—it's better to know what happened."

_Was it?_ Mal wondered. He thought of all the folk he had lost whose end he did not properly know—not just the soldiers, but all the folk from Shadow. Granny MacEachern, Hank Blodgett, his sweetheart, his own Ma—it was too much. Changing the subject to try to regain his balance, he asked, "How'd you end up in this job? Workin' for the Alliance?"

It was a relief to speak of something less emotionally charged. "My sympathies lay with the Independents, back then," she answered. "But I lived on an Alliance planet. After the war, there was no point in fighting it. And plenty of point in helping to keep the peace. I always worked in law enforcement."

"After what the Alliance did to you?"

"Government, bureaucracies, military, even corporations—all unfeeling entities. But they are made up of people. Bureaucrats, soldiers, corporate workers—they're all human beings. Best you remember that."

. . .

Aides were called in. The papers were checked and stamped. Necessary business concluded, they stood up and shook hands.

Captain Chien Baker handed Mal's papers back to him. "You give that first mate of yours all the support you possibly can. She's gonna need it. Widowhood is a tough, tough road to travel."

"I know," Mal replied.

The captain gave him another one of those hard looks of hers. "You do?"

"I was raised by a widowed mother. I saw what she went through."

It was a start, the captain thought. Not enough, but he was going to try. She said, "And Captain, be careful. _I _may know the Tams are no longer wanted fugitives, but not everyone in law enforcement is as scrupulous about checking the updates. And bounty hunters most certainly aren't. We'll escort your ship as far as Boros, as long as you don't fly like a crazy person. Keep the scavengers away from those enticing pinblocks."

. . .

As Inara approached the dining room of Serenity to make herself a cup of tea, she saw Mal facing Zoe at the table, both of them nursing coffee mugs. Zoe looked a bit off-color, Inara noticed, and it seemed Mal was doing his best to comfort her. He reached over the table to take his first mate's hand. It seemed awkward. Mal and Zoe always communicated without touching, usually without words, and often without even looking at each other. They just synchronized somehow and worked together as a team. She'd never seen them discuss emotional issues. Their relationship was the polar opposite of touchy-feely.

Inara stepped over to the galley lockers and began preparing the tea. "…'cause I, you know…just wanna make sure you're alright," Mal was saying.

"I'm alright, sir," Zoe replied evenly.

Inara regarded Zoe. She did look alright, but not much better than alright. Then Inara took a look at Mal. _He _didn't look alright at all, and seemed more in need of comfort than Zoe.

"Mal, are _you _alright?" she asked.

"Yeah…I…well…not…." He didn't seem capable of anything beyond incoherent monosyllables.

"That was a pretty lengthy interrogation," Inara said. "You look like you've been put through the wringer, Mal."

"Not interrogation…just…talking."

_Just talking _put Mal in such a state? Inara pondered what kind of talking could do that to a person.

"About Lieutenant Baker, sir?"

Mal nodded.

Zoe spoke to Inara. "Our platoon commander in the war—at Serenity Valley." To Mal she said, "Lieutenant Baker thought the worlds of you, sir. Told his wife there never was a better sergeant…that you were the reason he was able to keep going, and get through it."

"He didn't get through it," Mal ground out. "He died."

Zoe looked at Inara. "Patrol captain is Lieutenant Baker's widow." Inara immediately understood that Zoe and the patrol captain had had a bit of widow-to-widow chat, during their second interview. That's why Zoe was alright. Mal was lost in his own world of trauma, and couldn't see it.

"She got me talking about…I ain't never talked about it, not since…" Mal was rapidly turning to anger, Inara saw—his usual response when he wanted to avoid dealing with his emotions. "Don't _never _want to." He slammed his coffee cup onto the table.

"What you did there was heroic," Inara offered. She'd heard enough about Serenity Valley—never from Mal, and rarely from Zoe, but second-hand from the others in the crew—to come to this conclusion.

"I lost 1878 men and women in twenty-six days. If that's heroic, then a hero is someone who gets people killed." Mal stomped off to his bunk, opening the hatch with a vicious kick.

Inara's impulse was to follow him, but Zoe stopped her. "Never once since Serenity Valley has he spoken about it. That's a first. 'Bout time he let those words come out of him."

"He's got to let those feelings out, too." Privately, Inara would have liked to put Mal through a course of cognitive behavioral therapy and enroll him in a post-traumatic stress disorder support group, but somehow she doubted he would volunteer for the treatment, even if it were feasible. Still, anything she could do to encourage him to express his feelings and his grief over those events, she figured to be a step toward healing.

. . .

Mal dropped down the ladder into his bunk and aimed a kick at the bulkhead. It didn't give like the hatch, and he hobbled, cursing fluently in Chinese, over to the desk. He drove his fist into the filing cabinet, and drew it back, shaking it in pain. He tried to take refuge in anger—it was his favorite defense mechanism to avoid dealing with the deepest wounds. Didn't want sympathy, didn't want pity, didn't want Inara's melty-eyed looks. What did she know about war? He'd just spent an hour opening the door to some of the darkest corners of his life. It hurt, gorramit, it hurt. He sat heavily on the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face, trying to rub away the visions of death and destruction dancing before his eyes. Hold on. _Hold on._ Rubbing away the wetness that seeped through his fingers, despite himself.

. . .

The Captain's pain was palpable, River thought, looking deep into the black as she guided Serenity on a steady path towards Boros. The physical hurts didn't even begin to distract him from the pain within. She gazed out at the stars and felt the river of tears flow down her face.

. . .

There was no approaching the Firefly now, with its Alliance escort. The blue-gloved hands glided over the smooth control panel. The latest generation of long-range sensors made it easy to track the quarry while keeping well out of range of the battered old transport's proximity detectors, even if the stealth system had not kept the ship sufficiently disguised. Perhaps targeting the quarry was not entirely necessary. There were other ways to play the game.

_. . ._

_._

_._

_._

_fin_

glossary

地狱 dìyù [hell]

该死 gǎisǐ [damn it]

佛 Fó [Buddha]

混蛋 húndàn [bastards]

嘿 Hěi [Hey]

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks for reading this story. This is my first fanfic, and my first attempt at writing fiction of any kind. Thanks to the creators and writers of Firefly for putting together such vivid characters and such an interesting and detailed setting for them. That's what inspired me to write this in the first place. I'm late to the party, I know, but I enjoyed writing this anyway. Please leave a comment or review!_


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